


never say never

by todareistodo



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todareistodo/pseuds/todareistodo
Summary: two comebacks, two teams, two celebrations





	1. you'll never walk alone

**Author's Note:**

> neither of these have any redeeming features but enjoy 5k words of smut all the same

He smirks, slightly, eyes flying behind the reporter and speaking his disapproval good-naturedly.Trent ignores him naturally, understandably, swooping in and flinging an arm around his neck, screaming hoarsely in his ear. Eyes gleaming, so wide and bright and happy, grinning blindingly. Jordan smiles, shifts his weight so he’s wrapped around his side, palm hot against his shoulder.

 

Trent’s high-pitched and rapid when the reporter turns to him, Jordan’s arm now pulling him into his side, fingers tight on the ladder of his ribs through his shirt. Jordan’s just watching him talk and laugh and smile with his heart clenching in his chest, his skin tingling, stomach fluttering. Pride. Jordan feels so much pride, for Liverpool, for Anfield, for their single beating red heart. For Trent.

 

He wanders away then, the pull of _You’ll Never Walk Alone_ and captaincy and unspent energy dragging him away, but he can hear Trent’s fast-paced jagged rambling continuing as he walks away, grinning to himself, down at his shoes. He’s not sure where he’s walking to, only knowing his eyes feel hot, sweating tears, and his fingers are flexing with the desperation to _do_. They’ve won.

 

The changing room is deafening when he manages to make it back there, led arm in arm by Adam who’s buzzing so sweetly and clapping him on the back and congratulating them all. Jordan places a sloppy kiss on his cheek that makes him giggle, so grateful he can call Adam his best friend.

 

Trent is sat, head in his hands, grinning. Shaking his head like he can’t believe it and Jordan understands; he can’t believe it either, sure this is a fever dream, a cruel trick. But everyone around them is laughing and singing, swinging from each other’s backs and screaming about victory so Jordan knows. He knows they did good.

 

Trent catches his eye, suddenly, when he’s singing loudly and out-of-tune with Rhian, the white of them glistening across a whole changing room. Jordan can see everything in them, Trent’s dreadfully transparent at the best of times, and now, he has no reason to be. Jordan can read it all. He smirks, sharpness of his incisors nipping at his own bottom lip, and Trent’s face glows with excitement. Jordan laughs and laughs and _laughs_.

 

“When did you move out?” Jordan asks, giggling as Trent pulls him towards his new front door with a clammy hand in his own.

 

Trent fumbles with his keys, wild-eyed and maybe humming under his breath but Jordan can’t hear over the huff of his own struggling lungs. He’s still wired, energy thrumming under his skin and making it hot, sensitive to the touch. His jaw aches from all the laughter and smiles, voice hoarse from crying and shouting and telling everyone, so many people, I love you. Jordan looks at Trent and thinks _I love you_.

 

“Last month, I don’t like it, I can’t work anything, miss my Mum, might move back home.” Trent finally allows for a full stop. “Nice house, though, innit?”

 

He’s finally slotted the key into the lock, hurrying them both along so Jordan barely gets a glimpse of anything in the dark, other than the outline of a pool table by floor-to-ceiling glass doors onto a garden that stretches endlessly and glows orange in the sickly light of street lamps. Jordan stops to toe off his shoes, desperate to regulate the arousal clouding his brain, but Trent tuts, then hisses and shoves him towards the stairs, one trainer unlaced, the other hanging off his toes. He chuckles.

 

“Hold your horses, Trent.” Jordan laughs, taking the stairs two at a time to contradict himself.

 

Trent whines. “I don’t want to, c’mon, c’mon.”

 

Jordan’s unsurprised when Trent begins immediately stripping, barely into the room and turning on the bedside lamp before he’s peeling off his Liverpool joggers and t-shirt, discarding his boxers so wildly Jordan thinks they land back out in the hallway. He laughs, but his laughter’s tight and fraught and leaves him in a rush when Trent drops to his knees in front of him.

 

“We won, Hendo.” Trent says, eyes staring up at him so wide and so dark, happier than Jordan’s ever seen. It’s better this year, he thinks, and he slides a warm, still sweat slicked hand through Trent’s tight curls, scratching into his scalp. Trent whines and leans into the touch, into Jordan’s thigh, before righting himself and dipping impatient fingers under Jordan’s waistband.

 

“Oh.” Jordan says dumbly, as Trent spares a singular second to stare at his half-hard dick freed from his trackies and boxers now round his thighs, humming pleased and then feeding it into his own mouth, desperate for it. “ _Oh_.” Jordan says breathily.

 

Trent’s teeth tinker around the head, delightful slight scrape of it singing through his blood pathetically in need of a touch that’s a little bit rough and a little bit painful. The head is pushing against Trent’s cheek, the smooth velvet of it heaven. Trent opens his mouth a little wider, drool already escaping from the corners of his mouth and off the pink hill of his bottom lip, taking Jordan in further until Jordan can feel the frantic swallow of his throat around the tip of his cock, and he groans.

 

Trent’s eyes close briefly at the silent praise, pleased with himself for managing it, before he starts bobbing his head, blissful drag of his plush lips along the pulsing veins of his cock destroying his breathing. His hand’s gripping desperately at Trent’s hair, his moaning breathless and rapid, Trent taking it all with his eyes gleaming and his own choked-off little whines vibrating through Jordan’s dick.

 

“Trent, love.” He huffs out, watching as Trent shuffles backwards, kitten licks at the top of his cock as he strokes it with both hands, sucking the head tight between his lips. Jordan feels a spurt of precome drip from the tip and Trent must taste it on his tongue because he hums and sucks harder.

 

“You’re bloody good at that.” Jordan laughs, a little shocked and very impressed, but Trent’s the one with an assist and a world class performance, and the cheekiest, most intelligent set piece play Jordan thinks he’s ever seen so he yanks Trent up by the grip he has on his hair and slots their mouths together hungrily, tasting the salt of his own body on Trent’s tongue he’s sloppily pushing into Jordan’s mouth. Jordan smiles against his lips, leading him back to the bed, laughing just because he can when they break apart.

 

“Jordan.” Trent says, sweat along his hairline and already panting. “Jord. Fuck me, fuck me, please. Want it, I deserve it, reward me, c’mon.”

 

Jordan shakes his head, knowing Trent could continue for hours if Jordan let him but his own cock is throbbing and Trent is glowing, and they won, and the beautiful boy in front of him made him so proud, and Jordan’s really only human.

 

“Turn around.” Jordan mumbles breathlessly, voice shot and raw. “Turn over.”

 

Trent grins, scrambling to get into position, his eagerness so endearing and it makes Jordan giggle and press a dry, sweet kiss to the smooth skin stretched over Trent’s too-sharp shoulder blades. He’s shaking, he realises belatedly, shaking with adrenaline and arousal as he attempts to finish off untying his laces and slipping off his shoes, taking off his t-shirt. His fingers are fumbling.He can’t look at Trent ready for him, so ready, because he’ll lose his nerve.

 

“You’re gorgeous, love.” Jordan tells him, hands tight around his hips. He can feel Trent’s body shivering. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” Another shudder wracks through him.

 

And Jordan knows it’s what he promised, and Trent deserves it more than he maybe ever will, so Jordan leans down, using his grip on Trent’s hipbones to raise his arse up, kneading his hands into his cheeks before pulling them apart and Trent gasps, head falling into the pillow as he begs, without Jordan needing or even wanting to ask, begging and pleading as Jordan noses down from the small of his back to the base of his balls. The last _please_ is broken and desperate and Jordan takes pity.

 

Trent whines, pushing his arse back for more when Jordan licks a fat stripe over his twitching hole, just as smooth and pink as last time, starting to glisten with Jordan’s spit the more he licks at his rim, pushing the tip of his tongue inside as Trent begs and whines and trembles, telling Jordan he loves Liverpool and winning and him and Jordan has to move away to laugh, just a little, before he leans back in, kissing over his entrance that’s so wet now it’s almost dripping. He tastes like clean soap but there’s the salt of sweat and their victory under the shower gel and Jordan wants more, licking into him mercilessly, hands pulling him apart and leaving fingerprints in the smooth, warm skin of his arse.

 

“Hendo, Jord, fuck me, hurry up.” Trent pants.

 

Jordan pulls away, admiring his handiwork and the wetness of Trent’s pink little hole as it clenches, desperate for him and he groans. He’s so lucky.

 

“You’re lucky you thought of that corner routine because you’re being a brat right now.” Jordan teases, pushing a spit-slick finger into Trent and it slides right in easily, Trent already shoving himself back and asking for more.

 

“You can’t do the whole punishment shite now.” Trent says exasperatedly, arm flailing widely on his bedside table for lube. “I won it for us, Hendo, I fuckin’ done it. Shocking, really, you should be rewarding me.”

 

Jordan barks with laughter, dripping lube onto Trent’s hole held open by two fingers now, straight from the bottle because they’re already a mess, sheets sweaty and stained with precome and spit, and because Trent moans when he feels the cool slide of it, whines when Jordan slides another finger in and fucks into him, stretching him out roughly, rubbing right up against his prostate and Jordan knows because Trent goes silent when he feels really, _really_ good and his mouth is wide open, eyes closed, speechless.

 

“Found a way to stop you running your mouth.” Jordan jokes, dousing himself in lube and flinching at the cold of it, laughing at how messy and wet they both are with his over-exuberant use of the bottle, Trent giggling too, rolling himself over so he can stare at Jordan and smile, pull him down for a kiss.

 

“If I wanted you to be like that I’d go to Virg. But no, I chose you, so _please_.” Trent huffs out, hand loose around his neglected cock that’s pretty pink and dripping and probably painful. Jordan knows his own pressing arousal has his cock throbbing so much it hurts.

 

Jordan shakes his head in disbelief. “No condom?” He manages to ask, cursing himself for how his cock twitches at his own words.

 

Trent eyes his dick with his eyebrow raised, smirking. “No condom.”

 

Jordan’s breath leaves him in a whoosh and he pushes in too fast probably, but Trent is pushing back, whining and moaning, holding himself open so Jordan can fuck in deeper, pulling him down so Trent can push his white little teeth into the paleness of Jordan’s throat, nipping and sucking. Jordan’s nodding his head and groaning, thrusting hard and fast and the pleasure curls in his stomach, the base of his spine and he can’t stop talking.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Trent, so so proud, so proud. You did amazing, I’m so proud, love-“ He can’t manage to halt the words he’s repeating, can’t make himself change them because Trent loves praise, basks in it and he’s grinning helplessly, stroking his own cock as his foot digs into Jordan’s arse to force him in faster, whining and whimpering, telling Jordan _thank you, thank you, thank you, you’re an amazing captain, I love us so much_ and Jordan shoves in particularly hard, knowing he hit Trent’s spot dead-on because his mouth falls open and his entire body jerks, saying _I love **you**_ and Trent comes, so hard white lands on his chest and Jordan’s.

 

“Jesus Christ, Trent.” Jordan laughs breathlessly. “Give a bloke some warning.”

 

Trent’s still lost in the afterglow, body even hotter and tighter around Jordan’s cock, so tight Jordan chokes a little, only managing a few more stuttered, pointless thrusts before he comes too, emptying into the tight clutch of Trent’s body. He only just manages to fall to the side rather than on top of Trent, still struggling to regulate his breathing. Both their chests are heaving, rib cages expanding frantically.

 

“Fuck me.” Trent mumbles finally, sleepy.

 

“Just did.” Jordan jokes cockily but his voice is slurred by the crash in adrenaline, too.

 

Trent laughs sarcastically, shoving Jordan off the bed and motioning towards the en-suite. When Trent rolls back to lie on his back, legs spread, Jordan can see his come dripping out of Trent’s hole and he shivers, throat closing and cock, impossibly, twitching. Trent notices and rolls his eyes, shutting his legs.

 

“Fuck off!” He whinges. “Get me a wipe.”

 

Jordan chuckles and starts humming _You’ll Never Walk Alone_ , pottering around Trent’s en-suite that’s surprisingly neat, to his pleasure, and grinning at himself in the mirror. He has a little spritz of Trent’s cologne, rubs a little expensive moisturiser into his cheeks before Trent starts shouting for him again and he rolls his eyes.

 

“Enjoy yourself in there?” Trent bitches, face breaking into a grin. He lifts himself up to wrap his arms around Jordan’s neck, head tucked into his shoulder, and Jordan can feel his smile against his skin. He feels the ball of emotion in his throat return, eyes stinging. Sometimes Jordan feels so much, so much love and pride and happiness, that crying is the only way to deal with everything he can’t contain in one body. Trent nods against his shoulder, like he’s agreeing, and Jordan hugs him even tighter.

 

“I really am proud of you.” Jordan whispers, a little choked-up as he cleans them both up, extra care for Trent even if it makes Trent roll his eyes. He sees the little smile tilt Trent's lips before he carefully rights his expression, and Jordan knows that’s enough.

 


	2. to dare is to do

“DJ Dier!” Dele calls, repeats himself.

 

Eric rolls his eyes a little at the seat in front of him, smirking to himself, before he turns in Dele’s direction, unsurprised to be met with a phone where he should get eye contact. He knows he’s still smirking, lips stretching further and he waves a little. He can see Dele eye him carefully behind the camera.

 

“Change the song!” He demands, head still bobbing to the song playing now but Eric does as requested and picks something else from his Spotify at random. Dele nods pleased and starts moving his head in that funny little movement he does, more determinedly. Eric laughs.

 

Once the camera is safely off him and back too close to Dele’s face as he awkwardly pecks his chin out, Eric sighs and burrows back into the weight of his hoodie. He’s clean, smells of lemon shower gel and someone’s cologne, with no idea who’s, and the ripple of adrenaline has reduced to a gentle buzz. The bus is moving fast through the dark, everyone laughing and shouting and joking, ecstatic. Eric isn’t sure what to think because everything he thinks doesn’t properly equate to how unbelievable he feels. It’s madness.

 

When they’re jumping up the stairs to the plane, Lamela trying to take 3 at a time and tripping over the third edge sending them all into yet another bout of hysterics, Dele slides in behind him and tickles his fingers against the back of Eric’s hand. Eric can sense his smirk. The quiet thrum of adrenaline changes tack. His hoodie feels a little too hot suddenly.

 

He’s somewhat unsurprised that Dele thumps onto the seat next to him, flailing limbs and weight impossibly heavy. Someone’s started singing _Sweet Caroline_ again, Harry or Trippier maybe, and he realises why when he can hear the unmistakable sounds of Winks’ laughter.

 

“Everyone say hi to Winksy!” Sonny shouts, waving his phone around above his head so everyone gets a blurred look at Winks on FaceTime. Eric thinks he’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. He grins.

 

“Fuck me.” Dele says, the second attention has diverted back to awful renditions of classics and Winks’ fluffy blanket. It’s more of a demand.

 

“When we get home.” Eric tells him, voice too level with his attempts to keep it together.

 

“No.” Dele says, eyebrows raised cheekily. “I got an assist. I played amazing. Fuck me in the toilet.”

 

Eric splutters in disbelief, thinking Dele looks far too pleased with himself for the reaction. “I’m not shagging you in a plane toilet with the whole team outside!”

 

Dele huffs and folds his arms over his body. “Boring. We just got to a Champions League final, Eric Dier, I’m so happy and I know you are too, and you won’t shag in a plane toilet? Boring.”

 

Eric laughs so hard he starts choking on his own saliva, watching Dele grow steadily more irritated and that only makes him laugh louder. He slides a hand around Dele’s shoulder, pulling him into his body and ruffling his hair roughly. Dele whines.

 

Poch hugs them all tight into his chest, eyes a little wet again, before letting them go home with a tap on the arse like they’re his kids he’s sending off to school. Eric feels his own tears stinging in his tear ducts when he gets his hug, tucking his head into Poch’s neck and saying _thank you_. Poch nods, smiling, teary-eyed and Eric has to look away, the happiness crawling through his body again so strong it’s overwhelming.

 

Dele links their hands when he trots away, waving the rest of their teammates off and grinning, skipping towards his car and pulling Eric along with him. Eric laughs, unable to contain himself, breaking into a little jog to keep up and just praying no one’s around to see how ridiculous they look.

 

Dele’s buzzing quietly the whole drive back from Stansted, fiddling with every button in his car and definitely breaking a few things. Eric grabs a hold of his hand when he flicks the ignition so hard it shudders, squeezing it tight and laughing when Dele shuts his eyes briefly. When he looks down, he's unsurprised to see the shape of Dele’s cock under his trackies. He reaches a sly hand across and gropes him, just for the way Dele howls and slaps his hand away.

 

“Dier!” He yells. “No plane sex, no car sex!”

 

Eric chuckles, Dele giggling too and they’re off, in complete hysterics, desperately reliving the match when they’ve calmed down enough, Dele bigging up his own performance and Eric shrugging like he doesn’t agree when he really doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder. Dele’s definitely breaking a few driving laws trying to get them back in record time.

 

Eric’s only just managed to lock the front door before Dele’s on him from behind, biting and sucking at his neck, moaning against his skin and grinding his hard cock into Eric’s arse. Eric rolls his eyes and twirls him round, forcing him back towards the lounge because he knows it’s naive to think they’ll make it to the bedroom. Dele kisses him viciously, tongue and teeth, pulling desperately at both their clothes until they’re half-dressed randomly and they have to break away with a laugh and undress themselves.

 

Dele stares shamelessly at their hard cocks as they stand, unmoving for a second and Eric can’t help but laugh when Dele’s dick twitches for nothing. Dele slaps his arm in response and so Eric grips hold of Dele’s wrists hard, pushing them out of reach and _oh_. Dele’s breath flatlines until he’s suddenly panting, wrists twisting uselessly under Eric’s grip and he wonders disjointedly if he’s only struggling for the burn of friction.

 

“Slag.” Eric mutters, words joking but undertone dangerous and Dele senses it.

 

“I’m not.” He hisses, twisting harder, eyes glinting and Eric smiles smugly.

 

He sinks his teeth into the expanse of smooth skin between his jaw and collarbone, sucking hard and fast, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Dele’s breathing heavily, through his nose like it hurts him, but he still manages to give Eric a deadpan glare that makes him chuckle. He bites into the mark that’s blooming, licks it to soothe the ache and feels a surge of something vicious like _mine_ seeing the darkness painted into Dele when Eric put it there.

 

“You’re slow, man. Getting old?” Dele teases, hips jolting forwards in an attempt to find friction.

 

“Oh, really?” Eric raises his eyebrow in reply, bringing their cocks together to grind rough and dirty, the friction so harsh it makes his skin tingle but Dele’s neck is loose like it is when he’s about to come and the power is addictive.

 

“I’ll suck you off if you say please.” Dele is already slipping out of Eric’s loosened hold, spit-slick lips parted. “And that’s me being nice because you did fuck all today.”

 

“Dickhead.” Eric teases. “Please.”

 

Dele bites his thigh first, a nip of teeth that stings before taking him full in his mouth, as much as he can, nails digging deep into the muscle of Eric’s thighs. Eric surges forward on instinct, the wet heat so good and Dele chokes but pushes down further, grinding against his own palm.

 

Dele’s working hard, tongue pushing around the head and Eric feels himself drip a lick of precome at that, Dele lapping at his slit eagerly in return and yes, he’s surely on his death bed because Dele mumbles something round his cock and reaches for Eric’s hand, bringing it to his hair. Eric gets the message and pulls on the strands wrapped round his fingers lightly, Dele pulling his own head back to make it sting and Eric swears under his breath.

 

“Fucking hell, Dele.”

 

Dele hums around him, swallowing and Eric pulls and pulls at his hair to keep himself grounded, to hear Dele’s broken whimpers, to see the way his eyes water until Dele suddenly flies back, falling on his arse with a thump that makes Eric laugh breathlessly and for too long.

 

“I was gonna come.” Dele grumbles, fingers massaging at his scalp like he hasn’t just admitted he could come, was about to come, from having Eric’s dick down his throat, his hair pulled and the barest hint of friction. “Give me a minute.” Sheepish, this time.

 

Eric barks out a laugh again. “Winning really does turn you on, Delboy.” He jokes. His own cock is wet with Dele’s spit, his precome smeared down Dele’s chin in the trail of saliva clinging to his skin. He looks gorgeous, Eric thinks, demanding and needy, flushed and hard for him.

 

“I want to fuck you so bad.” Eric mumbles, an afterthought he didn’t truly realise he voiced out loud but Dele’s sprang to his feet, cock bobbing and dripping, perched on the edge of the settee and prodding at the bites on his neck.

 

He looks up at Eric through the fan of his eyelashes, mischievous. “Now, now, Eric, did nobody tell you I want doesn’t get?” 

 

Eric lunges for him, kissing him messily, uncaring about how deep his teeth bite or how tight his grip on Dele’s hair is because his legs are spreading obscenely wide to keep Eric where he wants him, groaning through it all and scratching red up Eric’s spine, and they deserve this.

 

“Remind me who was begging for a shag in a plane toilet?” Eric teases, but Dele tuts and Eric’s just turned-on enough to give in to Dele’s funny whims.

 

“Please, can I fuck you?” Dele pretends to consider it, brattiness radiating off him in waves and evidenced in the sink of his nails into the thick of Eric’s thigh. He leans forward to bite at the skin of Eric’s stomach, licking along the trail of hair and leaving a line of red teeth marks he soothes with a long swipe of his tongue. Eric watches it all, the flush to his cheeks and the wideness of his eyes, overtaken by how pretty Dele is. And how frustrating. “Please.”

 

“Please, what?” Dele inquires, voice prim and proper even as he very deliberately reaches into his rucksack and produces a tube of lube (Eric chuckles disbelievingly), popping the cap loudly so Eric is aware of his every minuscule movement. He douses his fingers in it, pressing one in all the way to the knuckle in one go, groaning at the burn but his cock twitches. Eric’s mouth waters. “Please, what, Dier, otherwise I’ll fuck myself with my fingers and you’ll have to sort yourself out.”

 

The threat would be empty if Dele wasn’t lost in his own movements now, two fingers pushed in too soon but he’s still fucking them roughly, hips moving in uneven circles, so fast Eric can feel how rubbed raw he must be inside. He looks obscene, eyes closed, mouth open and Eric wants.

 

“Please.” Eric starts again, hypnotised by the way Dele’s body moves, his cock leaking so much, his nails running over his nipples in a rhythm he gets drawn into. “King Dele.”

 

Dele giggles, a bubbling bright-eyed murmur of sound to counteract the way he’s still moving back onto his own hand but he giggles for so long Eric has to kiss him, affectionate and soft, delighted when Dele whimpers and pushes himself further into it, desperate for more, fingers stilling within himself.

 

“You may fuck me.” Dele taunts, own fingers slipping out wet with lube that he wipes unceremoniously on Eric’s chest. “Get a move on.”

 

Eric obliges, desperate to get some touch, so hard he’s sure his cock must be purple now and he thinks _fuck it_ , grabs a hold of Dele’s thighs, feeling the muscles flex and manhandles him into position, legs pushed so far down it must be burning every muscle in them, folded practically in half and it takes everything in Eric not to call him a slag again, because he sure looks it but he can’t risk Dele being brat again when he needs to come.

 

“Just shove it in, c’mon.” Eric rolls his eyes and considers holding a hand over Dele’s mouth until he’s rendered speechless but he’s too busy trailing his fingers along Dele’s hole, feeling how he’s stretched but not quite ready, rim already red and dripping in lube.

 

“I swear to god, Eric Dier, if you don’t fuck me right now, you won’t have a dick to do it with.”

 

Eric smacks his thigh where it’s pressed up against his chest and laughs evilly as Dele jerks, dick twitching, and pushes in, choking on his own breath at how tight he is, the tightest he’s ever been, tight and wet and Dele’s moaning even though it must burn, a fire spread through his whole lower body but he’s gripping at Eric’s biceps and urging him on, needy and desperate and Eric has to concentrate.

 

“Christ, you’re tight.” He manages to grunt out, thrusts hard and uneven, the pleasure liquid gold and already settling too quickly.

 

Dele thrashes his head against the sofa cushions, pushing back impatiently. “I should fucking well hope so.”

 

Eric laughs, just a little, because he can’t afford to waste breath as he slams into Dele so his entire body jolts. He wants to tell Dele how proud he is, how happy, how in love, maybe, but instead he brushes his fingers over his nipples, twisting just slightly until they’re hard and Dele’s every breath is a groan, hips rocking back into Eric’s so hard the noise echos round the room and they both laugh again, breathlessly.

 

Eric can feel the imprints of his fingers in the skin of Dele’s hips, feel the bruises under his hard grip and imagines seeing the pad of his finger painted on Dele’s waist, peeking out of his kit like a secret. He holds him just that little bit tighter and Dele rewards it with a wrecked whimper. He’s still making a mess of Eric’s back, nails harsh and incessant, murmuring _fuck_ repeatedly under his breath, often marred with childish insults that make Eric smack across his thigh.

 

“You’re so pretty.” Eric mutters, because Dele is. He’s flushed pink, eyes shining and open wide. Eric doesn’t think he’s seen anything prettier.

 

Dele snorts, breathily, “Gay.”

 

Eric rolls his eyes and picks up the pace, everything so much harsher and rougher than they’ve tried before, but Eric can see the telltale signs in the lines of Dele’s body; his head is lolling back, his legs shaking, eyes sliding closed. Eric wants to tease him, just for the reaction he’d get, he wants to pull out until the edge disappears and then start all over again but he’s not cruel enough when he knows Dele’s practically there, waiting for it. He’s silent now, mouth parted so Eric knows all he has to do is trail his fingertips along his cock and around the dripping head, the slightest hint of pressure and Dele comes, silent with it, body shaking, clenching around him.

 

“You better finish quick.” He groans once his brain seems to flick back online, wincing slightly at the ache that can’t be pleasure anymore. “Please, Eric, c’mon.”

 

That catches him off guard because Dele never says please, and he’s mortified by how quickly he comes, vision blurring out around the corners it’s so good, body tingling. He pulls out, watching Dele’s body uncurl into something vaguely comfortable, grimacing at the come sticky on his thighs. Eric can feel, with sudden clarity, the sting in the scratches on his back, the ache in his legs. The tenderness to the bites Dele gave him. Dele’s marked in so many other places, fingertips around his thighs and arms, bitten red everywhere. Eric thinks he must be so much sorer than he’s used to but he’s smiling up at him in that smug way of his, the childish _I_ _got_ _my_ _way_ so he can’t conjure up too much sympathy.

 

“Clean me up.” He demands, eyes flashing testily, like there’s even a risk Eric wouldn’t.

 

Eric’s already in the downstairs bathroom, towels and wipes and he almost goes to pick up a bruise cream but Dele would murder him for that, never let him live it down, “As you wish, your majesty.”

 

He gets him water and a fresh pair of underwear and a piece of toast, finding Dele sprawled at the other end of the settee, watching the highlights too loud and grinning blissfully. Eric hopes, maybe, the very much Eric-shaped space next to him is reserved deliberately for him. He settles in, Dele’s ankles immediately threading through his own so they’re connected, listening to the soundtrack of cheers and boos and Dele’s barking laughter and how noisily he eats every crumb and guzzles from his glass.

 

“Could you be any louder?!” He asks incredulously.

 

Dele fixes him with a peeved glare, “Obviously I could.” And he links their hands together, squeezes just once.

 

“You were incredible, Delboy.” Eric mumbles, kissing his cheek sweetly. He feels untouchable, euphoria keeping him floating, suspended from real life. “I’m proud of you.”

 

Dele smiles sheepishly, nudging his nose against Eric’s. “As you should be. We’ve got a final to win now.”

 

Eric laughs, rolls his eyes, nuzzles further into Dele. _Yes_ , he thinks. _They do indeed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm insanely proud of spurs but well done to liverpool too of course

**Author's Note:**

> @cm0nbabyblue on tumblr x


End file.
